Stages of Healing
by Ervinai
Summary: Severus Snape's perspective on the 'Harry looking in the Pensieve' chapter in OotP.


**Stages of Healing**

_A hand had closed tight over his upper arm, closed with a pincer-like grip. Wincing, Harry looked round to see who had hold of him, and saw, with a thrill of horror, a fully grown, adult-sized Snape standing right beside him, white with rage._

_"Having fun?"_

_Harry felt himself rising into the air, the summer's day evaporated around him; he was floating upwards through icy blackness, Snape's hand still tight upon his upper arm. Then, with a swooping feeling as though he had turned head-over-heels in midair, his feet hit the stone floor of Snape's dungeon and he was standing again beside the Pensieve on Snape's desk in the shadowy, present-day Potion master's study._

_"So," said Snape, gripping Harry's arm so tightly Harry's hand was starting to feel numb. "_So_ ... been enjoying yourself, Potter?"_

_"N-no," said Harry, trying to free his arm._

_It was scary: Snape's lips were shaking, his face was white, his teeth were bared._

_"Amusing man, your father, wasn't he?" said Snape, shaking Harry so hard his glasses slipped down his nose._

_"I - didn't -"_

_Snape threw Harry from him with all his might. Harry fell hard on to the dungeon floor._

_"You will not repeat what you saw to anybody!" Snape bellowed._

_"No," said Harry, getting to his feet as far from Snape as he could. "No, of course I w-"_

_"Get out, get out, I don't want to see you in this office ever again!"_

_And as Harry hurtled towards the door, a jar of dead cockroaches exploded over his head. He wrenched the door open and flew along the corridor, stopping only when he had put three floors between himself and Snape. There he leaned against the wall, panting, and rubbing his bruised arm._

-Snape's Worst Memory; Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, JK Rowling

--

Snape entered his office briskly and slammed the door behind him. Dealing with fools like Montague always put him in a bad mood. And there were so many fools at this school these days, Montague being a prime example. He was a waste of space and extracting him from a toilet was a waste of time _and_ effort, as far as Severus Snape was concerned. If they had left him in there it wouldn't have made the slightest difference to his future or that of the school. Utter fools like Montague would amount to nothing anyway, so leaving him _inside_ a toilet would possibly be better for him. Doing him a favour, even. If the idiot boy could manage something so irrevocably stupid, what purpose could he possibly serve in later life?

And how _did_ Montague end up jammed inside a toilet, of all places? He didn't even know! It made Snape sick. That time spent removing that absolute idiot could have been spent on something far more important. Although as far as Snape was concerned, almost anything would have had morevalue. Slytherin or no, Montague was an utter fool and not worth the time spent on him. Severus was glad not to have had to accompany him to the hospital wing and glad not to hear his withering excuses for a few days.

Slamming his wand down on a desk, Snape rolled up his sleeves and headed for the store cupboard in his office. He had far better things to do than worry about pupils. And now that he had some time to himself, he could spend it on something beneficial.

He froze.

The room Snape had been given for an office was on two levels, the lower containing desks, a few seats, some space for cauldrons and a few, common, ingredients. The higher level was where he kept his desk, his private possessions and a cupboard full of rare, expensive and sometimes dangerous ingredients. Snape had one foot on the step up to the higher, more private level of the room. And he could quite plainly see Harry Potter with his face submerged in the Pensieve. In Snape's own thoughts.

Severus breathed deeply and took long, slow steps up to his desk where the insolent boy was peering into his life. There was only one memory that Harry would bring to the surface of the Pensieve. Exam week at Hogwarts. The day of the Defence Against the Dark Arts exam and the day Black and Potter humilated and ruined Snape in front of the rest of the school. The day he called Lily Evans a Mudblood and lost the sympathy of everyone in his year.

This was the memory he had wanted Harry never to know. And now here was the nosy little brat watching every detail of it. Probably enjoying himself. Probably on his father's side, never once imagining what it was like for Snape. Probably cheering him on.

Well, he couldn't let it happen. He wouldn't. His right hand snapped out and fixed the boy in a vice-like grip, grasping his shoulder he knew to the point of pain. He saw the boys green eyes widen and gaping mouth turn to him in an expression of shock. He was caught. Snape wrenched him out of the memory, hand gripping tighter, anger growing within him. Once the boy was out and reasonably sure of his bearings, Snape calmed himself enough to spit, with usual sarcasm and contempt;

"Having fun?"

Harry still didn't have his feet firmly on the ground. Snape felt his thoughts gather and his realisation dawn before speaking again. This time he could hardly control his anger. He was breathing hard, narrowing his eyes and glaring, and he knew that his hand was holding on far too tight for a simple repremand. This was serious. This was an invasion of privacy, an invasion of security, of confidence. That one arrogant, fifteen-year-old boy could cause such a reaction infuriated him.

"N-no," Potter stuttered. Pathetic.

Snape's whole body began to shake, he was breathing so hard that he began to feel dizzy. He could see the boy struggling to remain upright as Snape shook him, hard. Severus didn't know if the shaking was involuntary and from the anger, or subconscious, but intentional. He tried to speak to calm himself and focus his emotions. But when the boy whimpered and stammered again, trying to make excuses despite the obvious evidence-! Severus's anger took blind control and his arm pushed out and flung the boy away from him, down the step and onto the floor.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to pound the walls and stamp his feet. He wanted to slam Harry against the wall and make him understand, make him recognise and know how he felt and how _he_ had been a victim all along.

But he couldn't. Potter, despite his arrogance and officiousness, was a pupil of the school. And if Snape had learnt anything from his schooldays, it was self-control.

But still, looking down on the boy, he felt the urge to _force_ him to understand. Out of desperation he cried;

"Get out, get out," and then, as Harry scrambled to his feet, "I don't want to see you in this office _ever_ again!"

Suddenly the Order meant nothing. The importance of this boy was insignificant compared to his absolute insolence. Snape's task to prepare the boy's mind was lost in a moment. He watched, hands clenched, nails digging into his own skin, as Harry ran for the door. He looked back at Snape. A mess of ruffled hair, bright, frightened eyes and flushed skin. Severus couldn't help but remember James. This boy looked more like his father every day.

Wanting to scream once more, Snape snatched up a jar of cockroaches from one of the desks and hurled it at the doorframe above Harry's head. As the glass and carcasses showered down, Harry wrenched open the door and fled. The door banged shut behind him, leaving Snape alone and a pile of dead cockroaches and shattered glass at his door.

Snape stumbled into a seat and sank into it, anger bleeding away. He felt limp and weak, as if the anger was filling him from the inside and giving him the strength to stand and to be. Now that it was gone, he wanted to fall. He rested his elbows on the table and pushed the heels of his hands into his closed eyes to prevent the tears that wanted to fall. The anger had left, no longer stemming the tears. Of all the people who could find that memory, it had to be Potter. It had to be the one person who could use it against him. The one person who felt as much about that memory as he did. But for Severus it was different. That memory held connotations of humiliation and loss. He had always been a lonely child, easy to pick on and ridicule. Black and Potter had found that vice easily. But that day...

The tears threatened again and Severus lifted his head sharply, blinking and righting himself. He had always thought that he had escaped the feelings that his days at Hogwarts had forced upon him. But for the past five years he'd found them leaking back into his mind. And now this. Snape thought about that memory, how he had never been able to forget it. How it had haunted him and how he had feared it. Even how he felt the need to remove it from his mind when facing Harry. Was it really in order to prevent him from seeing it? Or was it an excuse to free his mind from it and to detach Harry from his father and give Snape some power over him? He smiled. It was funny that somehow, despite all the good times in your life, you could never forget the things that made you feel bad, or embarrassed you, or brought you down. Maybe today would be one of those days for Harry. The smile widened.

Would Potter tell anyone what had happened? No, of course not. Nobody was supposed to know about the Occlumency lessons, and besides, who could he tell that wouldn't chide him for even looking into the Pensieve in the first place? No, he was safe. And so was Harry. Severus wouldn't tell anybody. It was between only them.

Severus Snape stood up and brushed down his robes. He felt the sadness and guilt pass on. The normal disdain and cool sarcasm washed over him again and he felt calm. He looked around the room, eyes resting gently on the Pensieve, which for a wild moment he felt like sweeping off the table and onto the floor. He wondered what would happen to the memories. Would they seep out through the floorboards and sink into the ground, never to be seen again, perhaps collecting in a pool of unwanted memories beneath the earth? Or would they remain on the floor, a silvery pool with an invisible line of danger, no-one walking near for fear of falling in and being lost forever? Would faces appear in the surface, faces of those long gone and fleeting? Would he be free of them? Or would he simply be lost?

He gathered the golden Pensieve into his arms and tucked his wand into his pocket. He opened the door and stepped firmly on the mess on the floor, resisting the urge to grind his feet and push the sharpness into the cracks in the floorboards. Tugging the door shut behind him, a contented smile came over his face and he began walking confidently to Dumbledore's office to return the Pensieve. He would return the memories when he got there. No need to break the good streak just yet.

As he passed a group of students in the corridor, he called out to one without looking back.

"Purvis, leave Miss Philips alone for a moment and find Mr Filch. Tell him to go to my office and wait for me. There's been an accident and I need him to clear it up."


End file.
